The Mutter of the Soul
she roams through the ether with uncontained purpose
she listens as a mother would for the sound of her new born waking
swirling winds of strife begin to shudder her consciousness
she surrenders to the pleading of a salty meditation
a murky grey eclipse of self
a breathless weight of vacant thought
she proposes a gift from deep within her sense
the self-inflicted adversary emerges
he covets, masked in pride and intention
her sucklings eagerly guzzle the curd of vanity
sadly, she guides them towards the abyss chosen
she is left with residue of the delusion
she cradles them back to safe slumber
they remember not
the whisper of hope dissipates in rejection at her feet
her tide must return alone
she will be back for her children another day
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